Chapter 4 - THE BLUE LEDGER
Emma almost threw the card away.
Almost.
But curiosity defeated caution.
The next morning, she searched for the blue ledger.
Nothing.
She searched Moretti family records online.
Nothing.
Then she remembered something her father used to say.
“When rich people hide things, they don't always hide them in safes. Sometimes they hide them in boring places.”
Emma smiled despite herself.
Her father had been a hospital maintenance supervisor before his illness.
He understood buildings better than people.
She called him.
“Dad?”
“Hey, kiddo.”
His voice sounded tired.
“How are you feeling?”
“Better.”
She knew he was lying.
“Dad, did you ever hear of the Moretti family?”
Silence.
Emma sat up.
“Dad?”
“Where did you hear that name?”
“At work.”
“Stay away from them.”
Her father's voice had changed.
Emma's stomach tightened.
“Why?”
“Because powerful families don't forget.”
“Forget what?”
“I can't talk about it.”
“Dad.”
“Emma, promise me.”
She didn't answer.
“Promise me you won't ask questions.”
Emma stared at the card in her hand.
Then she said quietly:
“I can't promise that.”
Her father sighed.
“I was afraid you'd say that.”
That afternoon, Emma went to the Moretti Hotel.
She expected luxury.
She wasn't prepared for the old woman waiting for her in the private library.
Isabella smiled.
“I wondered when you'd come.”
Emma stopped.
“You knew?”
“I know my son.”
“Did he send me?”
“No.”
Isabella gestured toward the chair.
“Sit.”
Emma sat.
Isabella studied her.
“You remind me of someone.”
“Who?”
“A woman who once refused to be afraid.”
Emma smiled faintly.
“My father says I'm stubborn.”
“Your father is right.”
Isabella reached into a drawer.
She removed an old brass key.
“This belongs to you.”
Emma stared.
“I don't understand.”
“Your father once helped me.”
“When?”
“Twenty-three years ago.”
Emma's breath caught.
“What happened?”
Isabella looked toward the window.
“Your father discovered that several financial records had been altered.”
“By whom?”
“People who believed money gave them permission to rewrite history.”
Emma looked at the key.
“What does this open?”
“A storage room beneath an old Moretti property.”
“Why give it to me?”
“Because Vincent cannot enter it.”
“Why not?”
“Because the person who sealed it left instructions.”
Isabella handed her a folded note.
Emma opened it.
The handwriting was old.
ONLY SOMEONE OUTSIDE THE FAMILY MAY OPEN THE ROOM.
Emma stared.
“Why me?”
Isabella smiled sadly.
“Because you already proved you would protect someone without knowing what you might gain.”
That evening, Emma followed Vincent to an abandoned warehouse on the South Side.
He wasn't happy to see her.
“You shouldn't be here.”
“I have the key.”
Vincent looked at it.
His expression changed.
“Where did you get that?”
“Your mother.”
He closed his eyes briefly.
“She shouldn't have given it to you.”
“Then maybe you should tell me why.”
Vincent looked toward the warehouse.
“Because my family has secrets.”
Emma held up the key.
“And this?”
“A door.”
“To what?”
“The truth.”
They entered together.
The warehouse smelled of dust and old paper.
At the far end stood a metal door.
Emma inserted the key.
It turned.
Inside was a small room.
Shelves.
Boxes.
Photographs.
Documents.
And one blue ledger.
Vincent walked toward it.
He stopped.
Emma opened the first page.
Numbers covered every line.
Shipping companies.
Property transfers.
Bank accounts.
Names.
Then she saw something familiar.
CARTER, THOMAS.
Her father.
Emma's breath caught.
Vincent looked at her.
“Your father wasn't a maintenance supervisor before.”
Emma stared at the page.
“What was he?”
Vincent turned another page.
A document fell to the floor.
Emma picked it up.
At the bottom was her father's signature.
Beside it were the words:
WITNESS TO FRAUDULENT TRANSFER.
Emma looked at Vincent.
“My father knew.”
“Yes.”
“About your family?”
“Yes.”
“And he never told me.”
“No.”
Emma's eyes filled with tears.
“Why?”
Vincent had no answer.
Then footsteps echoed outside.
Both turned.
The warehouse door slammed shut.
Someone had locked them inside.
May you like
And a voice came through the metal.
“You should have left the past buried.”
